


Dan Cahill: Ace Attorney

by angelkat



Series: [collection] Rival Argentica (2014-2018) [21]
Category: The 39 Clues - Various Authors
Genre: Ace Attorney AU, Crime, Drama, Drama in a Court of Law, Gen, Parody of a Parody of Japanese Law, crack!AU, slapstick comedy, so don't take this seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:35:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelkat/pseuds/angelkat
Summary: In which Dan Cahill, attorney-at-law, stands in his debut trial in defence of his old friend Hamilton Holt--renowned Olympics athlete, and accused murderer of supermodel Natalie Kabra.If only Prosecutor Ian Kabra wasn't on the case, it might be breezier task./reposted Dec 15, 2019. not edited. on temporary hiatus
Relationships: Dan Cahill & Amy Cahill, Dan Cahill vs Ian Kabra, Dan Cahill/Atticus Rosenbloom, Ian Kabra & Natalie Kabra, Ian Kabra/Cara Pierce, Jonah Wizard/Sinead Starling
Series: [collection] Rival Argentica (2014-2018) [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570921
Kudos: 4





	1. How to Adult

_Detention Room  
Thursday, May 3rd (9: 09 am)_

"YOU _IDIOT!_ "

It was a shriek that summoned a storm and slapped at his face and broke his heart, and at that moment all Hamilton Holt wanted was to break through that glass, reach out to his sister, and wipe those tears from her face and tell her _no, no, Madison! Trust me, I—I didn't do it. I'm innocent. I'm innocent, I wouldn't—_

_I'd never—!_

But she'd already turned away. She was not having any of this. His mother left him one last teary scowl before she pushed the sobbing Madison away in her wheelchair.

"Madison…Madison!" Ham pounded his fists against the glass, willing her to come back. It was, after all, all he could do.

But they didn't turn around.

It took several seconds before the sobbing faded off into the distant hallway. Stifling a sob himself, Hamilton slumped down his chair, his gaze blank. All his days spent in the detention room and treated like dirt by his own family was slowly beginning to take its toll on his very sanity.

"Ham…"

He snapped his misty gaze back at his other sister.

"You believe them, don't you?" He felt abandoned, alone, betrayed. His own family was all that he had, and even they had so unhesitatingly turned their backs to him. He was pretty much a dead man lying in his own coffin with nobody in the funeral house mourning the life he just lost.

Reagan bit her lip.

Hamilton clenched his fists.

"You believe I'm a murderer, don't you?"

It was a feat not to let his voice crack over _murderer_.

Reagan took a sharp inhale as if she herself was having trouble keeping the tears inside. She turned away, crossed her arms, and leaned against the post, doing her best to avoid his piercing stare.

It took her long seconds of silence before she finally sighed and told him the words she knew he wanted to hear.

"No, Ham. I believe you're innocent."

But this—this wasn't the joy he expected to feel after hearing that.

"That's a lie," he said, the dread in his heart growing and spreading and turning it black. He wanted to cry. "That's a lie…"

Hamilton could hear the crunch as she clenched her fists at the newspaper she held.

"It's just that…look, okay?" Reagan finally yielded. "You were drunk that night, you weren't thinking straight, you were at the scene of the crime, and you've got a solid witness against you. Any lawyer who would want to fight for your case would be an idiot. Your trial tomorrow's practically gonna be…"

He blinked at the stark white ceiling of his detention cell in a pathetic attempt to dispel the water that ached to pour. His throat hurt. That stupid lump was forming again.

He released a shaky breath as he covered his eyes with a palm, as if in exasperation.

He knew he wasn't fooling anyone though. Certainly not Reagan.

After some of the tears had trickled off down the skin on the side of his eyes, he spoke again.

"How...How's Dad?"

"Well." Reagan uncomfortably cleared her throat. "He's still mad."

He determinedly wiped off the mess from his face with the heel of his hand and he sat straighter in his chair. He locked his eyes on something that she held in her hand. "Let me see that."

"Huh?" She spared a glance at the newspaper she was holding and immediately shook her head. "No, Ham. Really, you don't have to—"

The look in his eyes was impossibly beseeching. "Please."

For a moment, she stood her ground. When it became clear that none of them intended to back down any time soon, she sighed. She was half-annoyed at his stubbornness, yet half-relieved that he even _had_ that stubbornness. He'd gone through so much this week, and though he was falling apart, she is at least glad that he still struggled to hold himself together. At least he still had some will in him to fight, even if the case against him seemed so hopelessly lost. She walked over to him and held up the newspaper, letting him see the headline printed in screaming capitals and bold red.

**OLYMPIC CHAMPION HOLT MURDERS KABRA IN WOMEN'S RESTROOM**

She rolled it up before he could read any further. She cleared her throat and looked away, uncertain if she would be able to stand that helpless look in her brother's eyes.

Her big brother, who used to be so responsible, so optimistic—reduced to _this_ , an alleged criminal, with nothing but the jail awaiting his future.

"The state will get you a lawyer if we can't get one today," she spluttered at the air. The only reason she ever even blurted out the obvious was because the silence was so unsettling it made her knees tremble.

Hamilton smiled bitterly as he sunk back into his seat. "It's fine. I mean, who knows, right? Maybe they could manage to get a brilliant lawyer who'd take this seriously." _Who was he kidding._ "If only Amy were still here, she'd…"

His eyes widened at that realization.

A lightbulb.

Reagan flashed him a confused look. "She'd what?"

A glimmer of hope. Just a glimmer, but it was worth chasing even the tiniest speck of light when the suffocating darkness was beginning to choke the life out of him.

He sat up straight. That tiny seed of stubbornness she'd glimpsed earlier had now noticeably grown into something greater.

"Dan. _Dan_. How could I forget?" If only his ankles hadn't been cuffed to the sides of his chair, Reagan knew he would've been pacing the room with his long legs, back and forth and back and forth. His hands gripped his blond bangs. "Didn't he just get out of law school recently?"

Reagan covered up her incredulousness with a cough. It showed how desperate they really were if they were even _thinking_ about hiring that dweeb as their defence attorney.

"I…already called him, actually, but he refused."

" _What?!_ Why didn't you tell me? Why did he refuse?! He's my good friend and _he_ — "

"Is a rookie!" Reagan shook her head in disbelief. "This is a _homicide case_ , not a parking violation—don't be an _idiot_ , Ham. I want to get you out of this mess just as much as you do. But you need a freaking _genius_ if you want to turn this case around!"

"Then we've got our man. Call him again."

And Reagan knew it was hopeless to fight Hamilton when he had that grim line of determination set in his mouth. When she swiftly left the detention room afterwards, she was half-livid at her brother for his stupidity—but the half-smile in her own lips indicated something else.

Hope.

* * *

_Cahill and Co. Law Offices  
Thursday, May 3rd (9: 15 am)_

Nobody would believe Daniel Arthur Cahill was a defence attorney if he didn't thrust his lawyerly badge on their suspicious ugly faces.

Which was why while he was just sitting there, chilling with some coffee and perusing his giant newspapers, he was worrying more about how to pay this month's rent than how Speede Tech's new Speede9S laptop series was all the rage.

Huh. He turned his newspaper to the next was glad the media had had enough of that Kabra murder case—or at least, they weren't putting it on the front page anymore. He couldn't understand why everybody was so desperate for even the tiniest drops of murder drama. They weren't in a freaking Agatha Christie novel or something for Chrissakes. The whole world was acting like there was something suspicious about Holt's apparent murder when the entire case couldn't be any clearer.

He skipped the boring news parts of his giant broadsheet and flipped to the entertainment page. Yep, found it. Not able to care less about the gossips surrounding Jonah Wizard's three-month-long girlfriend (wow, that was a record!), he grabbed a pencil from his can of writing materials and settled in his seat, neatly spreading the broadsheet onto his desk, flattening it with his palms. He had a mission to fulfil, and that was to finish this crossword puzzle. He was going to make this puzzle yield before its master!

Not a bad way to slaughter this boredom.

He worked on it for the next fifteen minutes, and already the boredom was back with a vengeance, chewing at him and driving him mad. He slumped over his newspaper and groaned. He heard his pencil roll over and slip under the table. Not for the first time in his entire life, he cursed his short attention span. He prayed for a miracle— _anything_ but this boredom! Yeah, well, he couldn't believe it too, how he'd reduced himself from a cool X-boxing-all-weekend guy to an old crossword-puzzle-solving geezer, but he was having enough trouble with rent. He couldn't afford to get his electric bills all over the place too.

He was just about to pick up his fallen pencil from under his professional-looking mahogany desk and get back to figuring out what the metal or plastic sheath over the end of a shoelace was called when the heavens took heed of his prayers and sent an angel knocking at his door.

"Dan!" The voice was muffled by the wooden door. "Open up! My hands are full over here!"

 _Hallelujah._ He swept his desk clear of his papers and immediately got up, clambered for the door, and opened it for his friend, who was bringing a bag of burgers and a box of pizza with him.

Grinning, he stepped aside to let Atticus in his office. Dan then shut the door, one hand gripping his chest in mock melancholy.

"The boredom was _killing_ me, Att. I was beginning to think you ditched me for some old dusty triangles in the desert."

"They're not old triangles in the desert," countered Atticus indignantly."They're the Pyramids of Giza!"

His young friend dumped the food on the mahogany desk and then threw his backpack on the floor. Dan rolled his eyes at the bulging backpack. Yeesh, what did he stuff in there, rocks?

Probably. His good ol' pal Atticus Rosenbloom had a morbid fascination with rocks—he says they were the witnesses of a global crime that still remained unsolved, and archaeologists had the crucial job of digging up the Earth's deepest, darkest secrets. When he wasn't trying to make his office a dumpsite for his stupid history books, Atticus was Dan's legal sidekick, his co-counsel, his Watson, his best friend. At seventeen years old, he knew how to read and write in the languages of old, a genius decipherer on his way to figuring out Linear A. Honestly, Dan wouldn't be too surprised if Atticus one day figured out the Voynich manuscript itself.

Atticus rummaged inside the paper bag for a burger, then jumped to the couch, already munching. Yep, the couch reserved usually for clients was now a couch reserved especially for Atticus Rosenbloom. Dan could smell the faint scent of feet, and when he looked, yep, Atticus had exposed his socks.

"Anyway," he said, acting like this was his home like usual and oblivious of Dan fanning the air over his nose, "I already saw them last year. I mean, I'd love love _love_ to go again, but..." He leaned forward, wiggling his eyebrows. "I'd rather spend my free time being with my buddy, you know what I mean?"

Dan rolled his eyes.

"The only reason you didn't go with them was because you needed to study for your bar exams and you're using my office because you're a slimy little crook. How do you plead?"

Atticus smiled behind his thick aquarium glasses as he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "Guilty."

"Very, _very_ guilty." Dan tsk-tsked as he walked over to the food. "But I'll forgive you because you brought me some...al _right!_ Pizza Hut!"

Atticus jumped at that. "Hey, of the two of us, _you're_ the one with a job! You still owe me ten dollars and fifty—"

"Learn to let go of the past, Att," said Dan in a soothing voice. "What's this? Ooh, pepperoni and cheese." The tasty aroma of calories wafted into the room and Dan's nose so greedily ate it up, inhaling it like it was the scent of heaven. "You know me too well, my friend."

"Glad you like it." Atticus smirked and took one more bite of his burger before he placed it on the glass table in front of him. He pulled his backpack to him, unzipped it, and set up his books, ready to delve into his studies. He began flipping through the pages of _Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind._ As he skimmed through the pages of his book, he asked, "So, got any new client?"

Dan pulled up his own chair behind his mahogany desk. The first time he sat here with his newly-received attorney's badge, he felt like a professional. Fulfilled. An adult. He'd felt like he was a shiny new nickel. But now, he felt like…well, nothing. Nothing _had_ changed, really. Being an adult didn't really mean being a fulfilled hero like the TV kept telling him in his younger years. He was the same dweeb he'd been in the past ten years. The media should be brought behind bars for committing perjury.

But maybe it was because he wasn't doing much of his job. Or his life, in general.

"Nope. No new client." He took a bite, and the next words to come out of his mouth were muffled."Do you think I'd be spending this day eating pizza if I did?"

Atticus paused in mid-flip of a page and looked up from his book to stare at his friend. "Yeah, right."

Dan returned his friend's gaze innocently. "What? They'll come if they need me."

Atticus sighed and put his book aside for a while. "Look, I know you're fresh out of law school, but if you want to grow, you have to get your butt off that chair and look for the job yourself! Print yourself some business cards. Go meet some big people. Get out of this office and into the big world. You can't stay cooped up here forever. You actually have to do _something_ other than wait."

"I—" Ugh. He didn't understand. Dan Cahill did not like working. He liked videogames and playing out in the sun and teasing Amy for her ugly red hair. His fun, cool old childish self was destroyed by rent and electric bills and growing up. Adulting was so damn hard. He didn't know how Amy did it.

Before he could respond though, there was a ring on the telephone.

And before he could tell Atticus to get his dirty paws off that phone, he'd already snatched it from his desk and ran far away where Dan couldn't catch him.

"H-Hey! _Att!_ "

"You've called the right place! This is Cahill and Co. Law Offices!" _Wow, he's looking cheery_. Atticus sent him a wink and a thumbs-up, mouthing, _Don't worry, dude, I got your back_.

Dan's face was flushed with fury and embarrassment, and he didn't know how he managed to hold the urge to flip him a finger.

_Dammit, Atticus._

After failing to dissuade Atticus with verbal insults and threats, he gave up, climbed up his mahogany desk, professionalism be damned.

"Get off that phone!"

"Dan?"came a female voice from the receiver.

Atticus dodged just in time before his face got hit by crumpled newspaper ammo. "Oh, no, madam, it's Atticus Rosenbloom, Dan's dutiful assistant and his Watson to his Sherlock."

"ATTICUS!" _That's so dumb even I can't appreciate it._

Apparently, the woman on the other end of the line thought so too. "O…kay…would you please get him on the line? Please?"

Atticus laughed as he ran around the room with an indignant Dan Cahill on pursuit. "No, you could tell _me_ your case and the office would be _honoured_ to accept it!"

There was a breathless pause on the other line. "R-Really? You'd…accept my case?"

Dan threw him another newspaper ball that ended up hitting the wall instead. "NO!"

"Yes, of course! It's a law office and that's what law offices are supposed to do—provide shelter for the defenceless!"

The woman on the other side sighed in relief. "Oh, thank you, thank you!"

"ATTICUS! GIVE ME THAT!"

The laughing young genius finally yielded as Dan snatched the telephone from him. He glared as Atticus sprawled himself on the couch, still hassled by spasms of laughter.

"Um…Mr Rosenbloom?"

Back to the woman on the telephone. "Right, he's an idiot."

There was a pause. "Dan? Is that…you? Oh, Dan! Oh, thank you, thank you so much for accepting my case!"

Dan suddenly reeled back in horror, almost even toppling over Amy's favourite vase in the process. This was her office before he went ahead and inherited it, after all.

"What?!" spluttered Dan,"N-NO! I won't accept it! I can't accept it! I—"

"What?!" blurted Atticus, aghast, "You were _actively_ refusing clients?"

" _What?!_ But your assistant said—"

"Look, Reagan," sighed Dan, "I know you thought there was a thing between us, and who can resist me, I know, I _understand_ , but…"

He could feel the rage explode from the receiver and he had to pull away lest his eardrums burst forth. "TH-TH-THIS ISN'T ABOUT ANY OF THAT! Dan, don't be such a moron, I called you again _not_ because _I_ want you on the case, not _really_." Dan reeled back a bit. He knew he was the one who kept pushing his clients away, but okay, _that_ stung _._ "I called again because Ham was the one who personally asked for you this time. We're running out of time. No one else wants to defend him—"

"And what kind of idiot would want to?"

"—every defence attorney we've talked to had turned us down—"

"And I'm your last resort. That's very flattering."

"—and you don't _care_ about that?" she countered indignantly, "I see you're still an insensitive jerk."

"Well what do you _want_ me to do? Accept your case only to lose? Ha! Keep dreamin', sister."

" _See?!_ THAT'S the problem with you lawyers. All you care about is winning."

"It's a _job_ , alright?! And look," he said,"I'm not God, in case you haven't noticed. I can't pull off a miracle and prove your brother innocent when he's clearly not."

"We don't need you to do a miracle," replied an indignant Reagan, though Dan had a feeling even she didn't seem so sure. "We...just need you to show everybody the truth—"

"Which is what you're completely missing," he parried, his patience ticking off. "No one's even taking the investigation seriously! I mean, the case against him is pretty solid already. Let the state give him his lawyer, I sure don't envy the poor guy." Which, of course, was a lie, but life was immensely easier that way.

"But he wants _you!_ " she burst out, " _I_ want you. To go up there in the court for him, I mean."

Dan burst out laughing. A minute ago she was screaming about how such a moron he was. "Why would he want _me_ to defend him, really? Why would _you?_ "

Reagan took a breath. "Because we believe in you."

"Whoa, whoops, we better cut the sap. See ya."

" _And we'd want someone to believe in us!_ " she said, desperate."Please? Isn't this what you became a lawyer for? Amy would want you to take it!"

Heh. Well, _Amy_ would have easily turned the case on its head.

"Well, sorry then, but I am not my sister."

"Good, because I believe I'm talking to Dan Cahill," she snapped back. After a pause, she said, her tone softened, "So you'd…you'd take the case?"

"Take it, Dan!" hissed Atticus, who'd been listening in earnest in their conversation the entire time. "Take it!"

Dan clapped the mouthpiece with a palm to hiss right back. "How am I supposed to defend someone who already _clearly_ murdered Natalie Kabra?! If I go up in the court, it'd be me against the entire world!"

Atticus nudged his shoulder enticingly. "Not a bad way to slaughter your boredom, eh? Eh?"

Dan glared down at him. "Not a bad way to slaughter my _dignity_."

One more concern was that Hamilton Holt was an Olympic champion. If Dan defended him and lost, his reputation was gonna suffer.

"Well, so what?" Atticus shrugged."You'd rather spend your entire life solving crossword puzzles?"

"I'm practicing my right to refuse! Got any problem with that pal?!" He was aware that he was starting to sound like an insensitive jerk here, but dammit, he just wanted some peace and quiet."And I can refuse any damn case I wanna refuse! So butt off!"

There was a beat of silence.

"…alright. I've had enough of this." Atticus stepped up the couch so he could be a head taller than his friend and snap him out of whining like a child. He grabbed him by the collar, and just when Dan had spluttered " _H-Hey—"_

"Prove to me that the badge you're wearing isn't just some fancy piece of metal," snapped Atticus, his brown gaze intense, boring so deeply into his soul that Dan _might_ have been freaked out by this outburst just a little. "Prove to me you deserve this office and that mahogany desk and that you're even _worth_ your salt. Prove it to me, _pal_." He began shaking him, " _Prove it!_ SHOW ME YOU'RE AN ATTORNEY!"

Dan stared at his friend for one more moment before deciding that _okay_ , Atticus did have a point. If he understood anything from what Atticus just said, Dan _was_ in desperate need to make money, because if he doesn't pay his rent soon, he'll end up being homeless.

Poker-faced, he wordlessly backed away from Atticus, making the boy release his collar from the grip of his fingers. With his two hands occupied from holding on the telephone, he couldn't run his hands through his dirty blonde hair in a show of extreme distress. So he simply walked to the side of the couch, stood before the wall, and slammed his forehead against the cold hard concrete.

"Uggggghhh."

Atticus may be an expert on Sanskrit and Linear A and Egyptian hieroglyphs, but not one cryptologist in the entire world could defeat his mastery of Dan-speak. "YES! I _knew_ you'd agree!"

Reagan cleared her throat, the silent spectator finally making it known that she'd been listening this whole time. " _So_ …"

Atticus was looking at him expectantly. Dan opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Then opened it again. "Nope. Still not taking the case."

Atticus looked like a child denied his Christmas present. "NOOOO! But Dan!"

"But _Dan—_ "

"I WAS JUST FREAKING _KIDDING!_ " Dan set down the body of the telephone on his desk and ran his free hand down his face in exasperation. "You two are so tense."

It took several moments for it to register. Finally, both Reagan and Atticus sighed in overjoyed relief.

"Yes! Yes!" Atticus was jumping in the air and pumping his fists. "I _knew_ you'd take it! Your first trial, coming right up!"

Dan shook his head as Atticus began whooping and running around the office doing his victory dance.

"I guess I'm taking it," sighed Dan to the telephone, already sounding defeated when the true battle hadn't even begun yet. "When's the trial?"

He could _hear_ the relief in her smile through her words. "You really meant it, then. For a moment, I was afraid that you'd—"

"You're making me take it back."

"What? No! I'm just…happy. Okay. Right down to business I guess." Reagan's happiness was sunlight streaming through the receiver, and Dan found it hard not to let slip a smile himself. "The trial's tomorrow," she said. "We'll talk the details down there in your office—I already have the letter with me."

 _T-Tomorrow?!_ Dan was already beginning to regret his decision, but for some reason, his outward physical body continued to act cool as if taking on murder trials was something he did everyday.

"Uh-huh. What letter?"

"The letter requesting you to be Ham's lawyer, dimwit. Save some pizza for your very first client, alright? This is going to be a special occasion for you."

"Okay, sure, why the hell not." His brain was already forming a plan of escape. He could get out of this godforsaken office and pretend he was sick, and then Reagan wouldn't bother him again because by the time they met again, well, the trial would have been over, and there would be no hard feelings. Yep. He wasn't gonna expose his delicate dignity to any murder trials just yet, thank you very much. Just before he took a bite of his pizza, however…

He sat ramrod straight. "Wait. How did you know I was eating pizza?!"

And then he saw Reagan Holt out his window, waving at him from across the street, inside the glass walls of a telephone booth.

All too suddenly, his appetite for pizza was swallowed by a sensation of puking. So this was how it felt like to be an adult.

There was no escaping it.


	2. Judgement Day

_The Pierce Manor  
April 30th (7: 56 pm)_

The party was downstairs.

(But it wouldn't be a party at Pierce and Kabra's place without a bit of crime and murder, would it?)

Natalie Kabra felt a little dishevelled that night. Yes, even international supermodels could feel 'a little dishevelled'. She'd just returned home from her flight after all,and what she needed right now was sleep. Sleep! Her beauty sleep! Why couldn't Ian understand how crucial it was to keep her skin glowing for the spotlight? This little party of his was going to be the death of her!

Cursing the slow advent of her jet lag and her idiot of a brother, Natalie sighed and dismissed her annoying poor girl had been hovering by her side all night, anxious to be told what to do. "What do I do for you, mistress? Would you like a massage, mistress? Do you think you could use a glass of water, mistress?" Ugh. Amateurs. So eager to prove their pathetic selves useful. That Wyatt girl…or was it White? Wycliffe? Wycherley? Whatever—was being more of a constant pest than an actual handmaiden. The employees her idiot of a brother keeps hiring in this house…Blinky was more suited for this job than anyone else!

Speaking of the old hag, where _was_ Aunt Spasky? It was so much more fun bossing her around and telling her to comb her hair, and powder her face, and iron her skirt, and sweep the floor, and tell her to go choke herself for her entertainment…Irina's eye-twitching mannerism never got old. Natalie was going to have to talk to her brother about Aunt Spasky. Oh, Ian was going to hear it if he'd dared fire her!

She was just about to go downstairs when she suddenly felt an urge…to groaned. Apparently, even international supermodels were humans subjected to these disgusting biological processes.

Natalie thought that going back up the stairs to her private restroom was going to take her some time and stress her legs out, so she decided to go into the manor's public restroom. Ian had it built a long time ago for his guests, he said.

She strolled inside, her heels clicking against the tiles. Hmm, it was a long time since she'd last been here, but yes, even she could appreciate that the manor's public restroom looked prestigious enough, with the beige walls and the neat mirror and that faint pleasant scent and the expensive-looking tiles that bore a classic flowery pattern. She took note of the stalls—the sixth and furthest one was occupied, so she entered in the fourth one, making sure they were one stall apart.

When she was done, she stepped out with a flourish. She approached the sink to wash her hands, squirting soap from the dispenser, and then rubbed her palms together until they were a vanilla-scented, frothy white. Her hands looked like she'd reached for the sky and some fluffy clouds stuck with her. She giggled to herself a little. Soap was one of her childish obsessions that she was glad she'd retained through her adulthood. She liked the feeling of being clean.

Which was why as she was drying her hands with a paper towel, and caught herself in the mirror, she took note of that dirty little wrinkle on her forehead. She frowned. Her lips seemed to need a quick retouch as well. She peered closer to her reflection, incredulous.

How could she have overlooked this the first time?

She sighed. Must be the stress. Walking down the ramp with her head held high among the flashes of lights and shining like a star was supposed to be her dream come true, but now…

She rummaged into her purse for her lipstick. Once she found it, she said _aha_. But when she looked at herself in the mirror again, she found that she was not alone anymore.

She screamed.

She tried to run away, but whoever this crook was caught her by the arm in an iron grip.

And then there was blood.

And water.

And vomit.

And that pleasant scent, stronger this time, bringing her a taste of euphoria before all her biological processes just shut themselves down.

Permanently.

* * *

_District Courthouse  
May 4th (9: 52 am)_

A new day and a new trial.

His first trial.

When he'd first walked into the courthouse in a pair of dashing trousers and an incredibly expensive yet uselessly itchy suit, several people stopped talking and looked at him. A silence befell everyone, and he just stood there, paralyzed. It was a silence that made him want to blurt "Okay hi hello nice to meet y'all g'bye" and run away, but somehow his legs just suddenly couldn't move. Some looks he received were pitiful, some were mocking, and some were indifferent to his existence ( _thank you, guys, you're my new best friends because Atticus is really bad at being one_ ).

But either way, this wasn't looking so good.

He was just thinking about going back to his safe little bed and forget all about this because damn he's scared, _what was I thinking_ , accepting _Hamilton Dolt's case_ of all cases? How could anyone expect a rookie attorney like Dan Cahill to win what was possibly the most serious of trials of all time? But no, lo and behold, before he could pretend he entered the wrong courthouse and get the hell out of this snake pit, Atticus Rosenbloom just had to find him and pull him deeper into this crazy rabbithole.

"Dan! I've been waiting for you! _Whoa_ , dude." Atticus took a step back and admired his friend. "Did you go shopping yesterday and not tell me?"

"Shopping? _Me?_ No, my sister bought these." She'd been so excited to learn that her brother was going to law school too, so she bought this Armani garb, dreaming of the day to see him wear it one day when he was standing up as an attorney in his own trials.

She would've been proud to see him finally wearing them now.

Atticus smirked. "Awww."

No, _no_ , he was _not_ going to be accused a sentimental sap here and now. "Stop staring at me like that, will you? Look, it would be a shame if I didn't wear them!"

"Okay, right, I get it! But this deserves some documentation…" Atticus slowly reached behind for his backpack and brought out what looked like a scrapbook. The young Rosenbloom pulled Dan by his shoulder as he brought out his phone for a selfie. "Caption: Defence Attorney Dan Cahill in his first trial. _Smile!_ "

"Arrgh!" Blinking away the bright light from his eyes, he pushed the child away. " _Atticus!_ "

But Atticus didn't look up from his phone, still grinning down at the perfect shot of a completely flustered Dan Cahill. He then finally looked up to meet Dan's green glare. "What? This _is_ your first trial!" He pocketed his phone, then showed him the scrapbook. "It's going in _this_ album, baby! I'm so excited for you to get up there and kick their butts!"

At that, some people laughed at the innocence of Atticus Rosenbloom.

"Heh. Amateurs."

"How cute."

"They've got no idea who they're standing up against, huh…"

"They're treating this like a joke!"

Dan couldn't figure out whether Atticus really was just oblivious to the laughter or was deliberately ignoring them. Either way, he could be such a genius, and such an idiot.

"Atticus!" hissed Dan,"Will you put that away? You're embarrassing me!"

"What? I just wanted you to relax a little."

"This isn't helping me relax at all!"

"Look, I know why you got here late. It's because you've been up all night playing." He leaned closer to whisper his next words. "And it's because you're nervous."

Dan reeled back. "What th—shut up, they can hear you!"

"No they can't!"

"Just—put that away!"

"Put what away?"

" _That_ , dammit!"

"The phone?"

"NO! That—that stupid—childish—scrapbook—thingy." Dan was getting annoyed that he can't get annoyed for long. Damn his apparent short attention span. Damn Atticus for triggering him in the first place. Damn Natalie Kabra's murderer for bringing up this stupid trial— _oh, whoever you are,DAMN you_ , _because imma bring you to justice!_

The only question here was how.

"Just—just—! Aaarrrgh." Who was he kidding. Him, a defence attorney? He couldn't even properly articulate his frustration.

Atticus relented, clearly seeing that his friend was in pain. "Alright alright, Jesus. You're so tense, dude."

"Well, you try wearing my shoes."

"They're too big. You have big feet."

"Exactly! Wait what?"

"Oh, _there_ you are!" sang Reagan, who strode towards them with her athletic legs. Dan had to force his eyes off the legs in question _because why is she wearing that short of a skirt?!_ Goddammit. Looks like the world was out to destroy him utterly. She beamed as she took her place in front of him, _her eyes are up THERE, man_. "I hope you don't make a habit of going late to your own trials, Dan. It's not going to earn you any points with anyone."

Dan looked away from her gaze and scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah…woke up a bit late."

"From a nightful of playing Mobile Legends," Atticus chimed cheerfully.

He slapped the palms of his hands together. "Okay. Yep. That's it. I'm convinced. The only reason your big mouth survived evolution was that it annoyed others so much they killed themselves."

Atticus looked at him, impressed. "Ooh. So you _were_ listening to my history lessons."

"Oh!" said Reagan, taking note of the teen's presence. "So this is Mr Rosenbloom?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Dan swore Atticus was itching to tip an imaginary hat with that self-righteous smile of his. "The Cahill and Co. Law Offices is _glad_ to be of service."

"Me too, Mr Rosenbloom, me too." Reagan turned back to , unable to hold herself any longer, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and effectively choking him. He staggered, barely able to support her muscly weight. "Thank you, _thank you_ so much for taking the case. I swear we didn't know what to do without you!"

"Heh, _technically_ the state would have given you a lawyer, just _technically_ speaking, but…if you don't mind, we're…getting a bit…" She hugged tighter, meaning tighter wind pipes, meaning difficulty breathing, meaning squeaky voice.

"… _cheesy now_ …"

She released him.

"Sorry." But, no, that bright smile on her face did _not_ look so sorry about almost suffocating him to death, though he supposed he could forgive her because the tears she was wiping with the heel of her hand seemed authentic enough. Reagan gently slapped her cheeks and shook her head as if that would shake away the remaining tears. Straightening up again and smiling like nothing happened, she said, "I'm just so proud you got out of your bed this time."

"Eh…yeah…like I had any choice…"

Before any of the two could say anything, Taylor Swift's _Red_ suddenly exploded out of his pocket, eliciting a few gasps and stares from the people around them.

Dan was oblivious to it until Reagan finally said, "Um, Dan…is that yours?"

Then he realized that the sound was actually coming from his phone.

He turned to see Atticus stifling a giggle. The little asshole. _I regret ever teaching you anything about the sacred art of pranking._

He pulled out his phone and shut it up and brought it to his ear.

" _What?!"_

"Whoa, dude! So intense today. It's just Evan!"

Evan? Who the heck…oh.

_Oh._

Evan Tolliver. Nerdy, real clumsy, cute coke-bottle glasses, hacking genius, 'adorkable', and Amy's boyfriend.

Well, one of her boyfriends. The other one was Jake Rosenbloom. Long story short, Amy's death brought the two closer together and now you couldn't find a way to separate them. Providentially, Mark Rosenbloom's team of archaeologists just recently lost their computer man, and Evan Tolliver was a really convenient replacement. Apparently he's in Cairo now to see the Pyramids of Giza after Jake offered him the once-in-a-lifetime chance of seeing the pyramids, which brings them to the trial in question of an Olympic athlete who murdered a supermodel.

"What do _you_ want?"

"Good morning to you too," replied Evan, his enthusiasm unfazed by Dan's sour bite."I just wanted to wish you good luck on your trial! Jake's out there digging, but he sends his love."

Dan barely heard him. "Digging? Isn't it, like, four am there?"

"Four _pm_ , Dan, Cairo is six hours ahead. I wanted to make sure to greet you good luck. I always greeted Amy good luck just before her trials, and let me tell you—it worked like magic."

Great, more people to disappoint. He released a shaky breath as he brought his palm up his sweaty forehead. Sweaty? But the courthouse was air-conditioned.

And wait a moment. Was it just him, or did the floor suddenly shift sideways?

"How the _heck_ ," he enunciated, the stress bright and clear with each shaking syllable, "did you know I was _going on a trial today?_ "

"Huh? Oh, Jake told me. And Atticus told Jake, so…news travels fast. Oh, and _also_ , back then," Evan's enthusiasm didn't waver even as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Back then, I worked as Amy's middleman. Whenever she wanted me to dig up some dirt on somebody, I was on it like a bonnet. So if you need my help, don't hesitate to call me on my emergency number, okay? You have it saved on your phone, right?"

On it like a bonnet _. Seriously?_

"When I get home," he continued, "I want you to tell me _all_ about how you kicked the prosecution's butt. Every single little detail. So make sure you win!"

Dan couldn't take any more of these crazy expectations and he just wanted him to shut up. "Well, I'd love to chat, but— _chrrr_ —wait…is that… _chrrr_ … _chrrr_ … _chrrrrrrrr_ …the signal is— _chrr_ —off! I guess we're— _chrrrr_ —just too far— _chrrrrrrr_ —away!"

There was a pause.

"That…is not how static sounds like."

"Yeah well, this is how hanging up sounds like!"

When Dan finally thrust his phone back into his pocket, he was met with a pair of chastising glares.

"That wasn't very nice," said a frowning Atticus."He was just trying to help."

"Great. Because you just _had_ to tell them it was my first trial today, meaning more disappointed people once I lost the case. All aboard the shame train! Choo choo! I'm an accident waiting to happen! Anyone _else_ wanna climb aboard?"

Atticus took a step back as if reading his friend from a distance would give him a better view of the entire picture.

"I…think this is the first time I ever saw you being pressured by anything."

"I am NOT pressured!"

" _Calm down_ , will you?" said Atticus, an incredulous sort of laughter caressing his words. While he felt bad for his friend's growing anxiety, the sight of a usually coolheaded Dan being unnerved by anything was kind of…amusing. Well, yes, being unnerved by a murder trial wasn't too inexcusable, but it was amusing nonetheless. "Not everyone here's waiting for you to make a mistake. Everything's gonna turn out fine if you just _chillax_. Remember," he reached out and patted Dan on the shoulder. "I believe in you, dude."

"Wow. One cheesy line from Atticus Rosenbloom is very reassuring, thanks." If Amy weren't already dead, he would have killed her. _She_ was the one who put him up to this in the first place. Because if she didn't freaking die, she'd be the one taking this case on, not him!

If she didn't freaking take up law school, like their grandmother did, and all the other Cahill generations before that, he wouldn't even have been pressured into taking lawin _the first place!_

(He'd long realized that he had no one to blame here but himself, though. No one had actually _pressured_ him into taking up law—it was just that he'd been too much of a child back then, too unable to make up a decision on what course he wanted to take for college, that he just mindlessly threw in the towel and just let his heritage—his Cahill name, ever famous for the trail of law court geniuses it left behind—guide his way.

But now it was too late to change the past.)

"If…if it makes any difference…" Reagan was twirling a strand of hair, having bashfully turned away from him to maybe hide that shade of pink that had begun to spread over her cheeks. "I'm…I'm counting on you." Meeting his eyes firmly now, "I believe in you too, Dan."

Here was a girl he sorta-kinda liked back in high school and he had to try not end up falling flat on his face in front of her when everyone else in the courtroom was sticking their foot out from under the table, eager to see him sprawled on the floor just like that.

Yep. No pressure.

He was just scrambling to find something not stupid to reply to her when a new voice joined their conversation, sparing him the agony.

"I BELIEVE IN YOU TOO, DUDE!"

"Oh boy," he said under his breath, the agony quickly returning when he turned to see who it was. "Here comes the giant…"

_More like the killer._

His client was dressed in a suit that seemed a couple sizes smaller, and for a moment Dan was afraid the seams were gonna burst. Each step that Hamilton Holt took shook the earth, then he hugged Dan so tight he might as well have been swallowed by the Olympic athlete's bulging muscles. It was when he was so effortlessly lifted off a foot from the ground when Dan began screaming.

"Let—go! Too—much—hugging!" Seriously, what is the _problem_ with these Holts and all their cutesy gooey hugging?

Hamilton let him down. "Dan! Oh, am I glad to see you again, dude! _Thank you_ for taking my case, man!"

Dan eyed Ham. Didn't seem like the type to commit murder, but anyone who can get drunk can do anything out of the blue. His eyes were red and bloodshot…he mustn't have gotten enough sleep. His conscience was bothering him too much last night to get him to sleep, maybe? Or maybe it's just that he can't sleep because he's nervous about his upcoming trial. He couldn't be a murderer…he's too soft-hearted to even hurt a fly. But oh no, could anyone be so sure? With those muscles of his, Dan reckoned that this gentle-looking brute must've gotten into a lot of brawls himself. Killing Natalie Kabra in the females' bathroom, though… That was just too…not Hamilton Holt. He was innocent. Or at least, he looked innocent enough.

But of course, who would _want_ to look guilty?

Dan coughed, covering his disappointment with his fruitless analysis.

"Did—did Madison and your parents come?" Dan drew his eyes away from his client and pretended to brush some dust off his expensive Armani suit.

"Yeah." Hamilton's smile faded at the mention of his family. "They're inside the courtroom already."

"So what do they think about the case?"

"They think I did it."

 _Ouch._ "I'm…I'm sorry." This was the job of a defence attorney, after all: listen to their client's weeping and nod sympathetically at each and every turn.

"Yeah. But Dan," Ham gripped his lawyer's young shoulders and looked right into his eyes as if that alone would be a proof of his sincerity, "you _gotta_ believe me. I didn't do anything."

Dan gulped down that rising sense of dread. They all wanted the same thing here—truth and justice. But that wasn't something he could promise to give him. "I'll do my best." Chuckling a little uncomfortably, Dan pried Hamilton's large sausage fingers off his shoulders. "I'm sorry I couldn't take the case immediately, though."

Ham forced a smile. "That's okay."

"No, really." It was weird to say, but Dan really just didn't _want_ to do the defending. He wanted the Holts to find a better lawyer—not _him_ , because _he_ might fail, and he didn't want to be the one to defend Holt and be the one to blame if he failed, because really, he _did_ believe that Ham was innocent—at least, he couldn't believe he could have the guts to commit murder—it was just that…

How can he find the heart to defend others if he can't even _believe_ he could do it?

They were just about to wrap it up and get to the show already when suddenly, they heard the sound of clapping.

Condescending clapping, it turned out. "Aww. Having a pleasant morning, aren't we."

They turned.

She wore low-heeled tennis shoes and her Levi's-adorned legs were paired by an expensive-looking top that was probably of some foreign brand that he couldn't even begin to pronounce. But the lady wasn't really the scene-stealer here. It was the Englishman beside her who gobbled up the definition of tall, dark, and handsome—all too suddenly, Dan felt ridiculous wearing this suit, because this man effectively put any model to shame by wearing _his_ Armani suitlike some sort of pro.

Ian Kabra removed his designer shades to reveal a pair of dashingly browed amber eyes.

_Don't tell me those eyes are designer too._

"Dan Cahill," began Ian patronisingly."Finally out of law school and out in the real world functioning like an adult. Must I congratulate you for managing to get yourself into the shower today?"

Dan sent him a scathing look. "Now you listen here, _pal_ —"

"Look," interrupted Atticus, quick as ever to step up, "there's no need for this. Why don't you get in there so _Defence Lawyer_ Dan Cahill could prepare?" Atticus said the words _Defence Lawyer_ as if the title meant he was the King of England or some junk, and these two passers-by were supposed to kneel before their almighty presence. "We still have a trial to win!"

Ian seemed to be a bit taken aback by the young teen's unfounded confidence. He paused for a moment.

"You…seem so certain of your friend's abilities."

"You _bet_ I am!"

Ian narrowed his eyes. "You have no idea who I am, do you."

"Nope! _So scram!_ "

Dan pulled the kid back before he stepped over the line. _"Atticus!"_

The doors to the courtroom suddenly opened, and out stepped a sour-looking old woman who served as the court's bailiff. "Sirs, the trial is about to begin. Please enter the courtroom."

Then she went back in.

Cara Pierce-Kabra—for who else could the lady be?—then tiptoed to give her husband a peck on the lips. "Good luck, you."

Ian nodded at her. "Of course, Cara."

Dan blinked after Cara Pierce-Kabra as she walked into the courtroom, leaving Ian out here alone with them. Slowly but surely, Dan was beginning to pick up the pieces.

_Why did she just wish him good luck?_

"Wait…you don't mean…"

Oh. No.

Ian smiled at him, his acidic mockery practically thickening the very air. " _Finally_ , the idiots have realized at last."

"But—" Dan was scrambling for something to say and was proud to come up with something licit. "This—this isn't even legal. You _quit_ prosecution years ago. And Massachusetts is nowhere near the district you're assigned in!"

"Thank you for informing me of my life story," replied Ian calmly, tucking his glasses into the collar of his suit. "But with the power I hold, you couldn't even imagine how _easy_ it was to...force...the Prosecution Office to allow me back into court, and in the Massachusetts court at that." His eyes sharpened. "I will prosecute this trial myself, Dan Cahill, and don't expect me to go easy on you just because you're Am—" He breathed. "Just because you're a rookie. Before this day ends…" His glare snapped up to Hamilton Holt, who, with all his muscles, couldn't control a flinch and even took a frightened step back.

"…the murderer will begin to spend the rest of his days behind bars for killing my sister."

And that was that. The prosecutor marched in the courtroom, leaving the defence team agape.

"Wait," said Atticus, ever the one to break the ice."So he… _he's_ the sister of the supermodel murdered by our man in steroids here?"

" _I didn't murder anybody!"_

" _Allegedly_ , Ham, but Atticus, yep. He's the guy."

"The owner of Kabra-Pierce Incorporated?"

"Yep."

" _The_ Ian Kabra, CEO?"

"Yep."

"That former prosecutor who kept kicking defence attorneys' butts?!"

"Dude, _YES!_ "

Atticus faltered. "But—but that's unfair! You're new to this! And he's—like— _he's—_ "

He swallowed.

" _He's Ian Kabra!"_

"Ugh." And the end of the world hasn't even begun yet. "I know."

Atticus was right to lose hope. Ian Kabra was known to be a ruthless prosecuting attorney who would bring the sky down just to get a guilty verdict. He'd quit being an attorney when he'd inherited his company and became CEO of the highly esteemed Kabra-Pierce Inc., but before all that happened, his career path had been clear—he was destined to be feared by all defence attorneys all over the world for his merciless methods to put their poor clients behind bars. It was rumoured that he'd even plant false evidence against his defendants if it only meant his victory, and it was rumoured that the rumourmonger of the latter rumour had been silenced because Ian Kabra always, _always_ had his ways.

There was only one person who could dance this snake's tango on the court, but because fate was an ass, Dan Cahill wasn't his sister.

This was rapidly becoming his least favourite day ever.


	3. Fake It Till You Make It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the trial, I'll be adopting the system used by the game and the anime, where the lawyers, instead of trying to convince an entire grand jury, are only going to have to convince one person: the judge. I hope the system doesn't weird you out too much, especially our resident archive law experts. However, to those who don't really care about these kinds of details, let's do a hi-five.
> 
> The format of this chapter is written in a way that sounds like the games, just like I've seen many Ace Attorney fanfics do, complete with a Court Record. You'd still understand it if you aren't a gamer, don't worry! I hope that explains some confusion after you've read the part where Dan cross-examines the testimonies—the bold Objection!s and Hold it!s and Take that!s were intentional.
> 
> A Court Record is a record of all the evidence gathered and the profiles of the people involved in the story so far, so you'll be seeing that one at the end of every chapter from now on. It'll be updated now and then if something new comes up, so if you want to try solving this thing, be my guest. Feel free to skip that part if you think that massive block of words becomes repetitive, and I assure you it will be.

_District Courthouse – Courtroom No. 3  
May 4th (10: 01 am)_

With his freshly polished leather Prada, Dan Cahill finally gathered his guts and strode into the courtroom.

And it was subtle, but he noticed it. The lively chatter from the gallery had quietened to whispers as he walked towards the defence's bench. And he heard what they were saying, of course, but he decided to take it all in stride. It was no different to having to go to law school and have everyone else looking at him with shifty eyes because _oh, look! That's Amy Cahill's brother! I heard he pissed off Professor McIntyre for sleeping in his class…._

Because, well, as everybody knows, his sister was quite a defence attorney herself. That made the expectations impossibly high, but also…embarrassingly low. _Look, that's Amy Cahill's brother_ , they said, but _Look, he drools over his books_ , they said. He couldn't decide which one made him feel better.

See, his sister was a highly esteemed defence attorney who ate up lawsuits like they were candy. Everybody said she was talented at her job, with, like, 200 cases under her belt, and in her entire, unfortunately short-lived career, she only ever lost one case—though the guy was as guilty as sin anyway. She was pretty if not for that leftwards angle of her nose, tall if she wore four-inch high heels, very professional if it weren't for her tendency to stutter like an idiot when she gets excited about a trial, and really very _really_ smart if it weren't for the fact that she had this stupid, naïve assumption that people are always good. She was so passionate about truth and justice that it literally killed her, but she didn't care. _Just never give up in fishing for the truth even if the lake seems dry_ , she'd once told him, _all in the name of defending the innocent!_

And he was nothing like that.

But he took it all in stride. He even winked at one of the girls in the gallery to keep up this calm, cool, collected façade, because this was no place to start chickening out. The blonde girl in question was naturally infuriated though, so he received a flipped finger in return.

Not that he cared. Oh wait, oh my god. Was that…Jonah Wizard himself sitting beside her though? Oh! So that was why the girl looked so familiar— _she_ was his girlfriend! Oops. Dan wasn't normally the type to get unnerved by celebrities, but the fact that he was up against the biggies in this court easily got through to him.

And the fact that there were media people following him with their curious gazes and their flashing cameras was not helping him at all.

These people here expected him to fail. These people here were confident his client was guilty, that Ham was the murderer. Oh, but no, look at the idiot over there in the defendant's chair, smiling at the cameras and even waving at the 'razzi like he wasn't going to go to jail for the rest of his life. Does the fact that he'll never be able to compete in the Olympics again not horrify him?

Dan took his place in the defence's bench and laid his suitcase on his table.

Hamilton sent him a slightly nervous yet determined nod from where he sat in the defendant's chair. "Good luck, Dan," he mouthed.

"Godspeed," Reagan whispered.

"You can do it!" Well, Atticus sure looked excited.

He looked around the courtroom. The elegantly polished wood gave a really classy feel about it, and despite his anxiety, it sort of made him feel proud to think that this was what he was meant to do—to stand in this courtroom and defend the innocent. As noble as that sounded, though, being down here made it easy for him to feel like he was at the bottom of a hole and the people up there were pointing fingers at him and laughing, which was, of course, a ridiculous thought. That was so Amy back when she was still a pathetic high school girl. _Gaaaah, Dan, you moron, stop comparing yourself to Amy._

The judge slammed her gavel down, jerking everyone else's eyes back up and away from him for a change. Whew.

"Alright, _alright_ , kiddos!" said the judge, "Court is now in session for the trial of Hamilton Holt!"

His relief was cut short as Dan gaped up at her. Instead of an old beard, she wore headphones, and instead of hearing aids, she wore that snake nose ring! What the heck? _That_ punk valley girl was the judge?

He thought this was a courtroom, not a freaking _circus_.

Honourable Judge Nellie Gomez presided over the court with her wise aura, commanding attention in a way that was almost strict in a motherly manner, though that was a bit undermined by the fact that the wig she wore was an explosion of neon colours—pink, green, and a gaudy yellow that glowed like the sun. Which was appropriate, (blegh), since she was the centre of the trial, overlooking all, as the one duty-bound to hand down the ultimate verdict.

Oh, and she also had a croissant in one hand. A sour-faced bailiff with a nametag that read _Beatrice_ was standing just below her, though the old woman's bailiffship seemed to lean more towards food service than bailiffship, really. She looked just about ready to drop her tray full of croissants if only she had any other choice for a job.

Ian Kabra loudly cleared his throat, effectively yanking the courtroom to the direction of the trial.

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honour."

Dan blinked. It wasn't until when Atticus nudged his shoulder that he realized he still had a job to do. Feeling the pressure of everybody's stares and stumbling over the words, "Oh! Ah, right. Um. The defence is r-ready, Your Honour."

Ian Kabra, who stood from right across him behind the prosecution's bench, didn't bother hiding the smirk on his face.

 _Dammit._ One minute in and the gallery was already hiding their laughter behind their hands. There was the slightest possibility that he was overdramatizing everything, but still.

Honourable Gomez swallowed her croissant before speaking again, though the wonder was clear in her eyes when she seemed to have recognized the trial's defence attorney from somewhere. "Whoa! So _you're_ the widely-rumoured Dan Cahill, now attorney-at-law? Grandson of the late judge Honourable Grace Cahill, son of genius defence attorney Hope Cahill, the late Amy Cahill's little brother?"

_Who are you calling LITTLE?!_

Overwhelmed by his predecessors' big names, Dan gritted his teeth. "That's me, Your Honour."

"No, no, the honour is all mine." Honourable Gomez smirked, boasting a croissant stain on her set of sparkling white teeth. "You see? That was a joke. I made a joke for you, kiddo, so calm the heck down!"

The entire court burst into laughter at that.

_Great. Thanks for running a bullet train on my already deflated self -esteem, Your Honour._

"I understand though," said Honourable Gomez, pausing to let the laughter die out before it gave way to a listening silence,"that this…is your first trial. Not bad. Not many rookies take a murder trial right off the bat!" This time, she grinned, her fingers rubbing her chin as she looked over at him appreciatively. "The blood of seeking justice must run in the family. Your sister was an unpredictable court genius, and I expect no less from your performance today." She clapped her hands once and spread out her arms to gesture the entire courtroom. "Right everybody?"

The court was moved into nods of agreement and yeses of anticipation at that.

Ugh. No. _No._ As if the stakes weren't high enough! This was _not_ making him feel any better. The talent was in his sister, not him! Oh, why oh why oh _why_ did Grace and Amy have to be geniuses when it came to court stuff? The only thing he wanted was to be a defence attorney and not be a disappointment to the esteemed Cahill name—he never _dreamed_ to be a famous prodigy.

Scratch that. Now that he was _already_ a defence attorney, he wasn't so sure this was what he'd wanted all along after all. Proof of how his decision-making skills sucked.

"Th-thank you, Your Honour."

"Oh, and I almost forgot!" said the Honourable Gomez, getting up from her chair and waving to someone in the audience. "A little shoutout to Jonah Wizard over there! Yoo-hoo! I'm so hyped you could join us. I'm your biggest fan!"

The court burst into applause as Jonah Wizard got up from his seat to say hello to the clapping court.

" _AHEM!_ "

If that wasn't the most over the top throat-clearing in history. All heads swivelled to the prosecution to see Ian Kabra with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes tolerantly closed, and one finger tapping patiently on his arm. "If we may _begin_ , Your Honour? I don't have much time for this."

"Ah. The _ruthless_ Ian Kabra," smirked Honourable Gomez, "finally back to prosecuting. I haven't seen you in court for two years."

"I decided to prosecute this trial myself. I shall crush the defence and make sure his client suffers for the crime he committed."

Dan flinched. _Man…what did I ever DO to you?_

"Yeah, yeah, I get that," said the unusually young, unusually punk, unusually female judge, "but go easy on Dan here, okay?" Dropping the next words in a stage whisper, "Just so you know, he's sorta-kinda new to this sorta stuff."

Ian snapped open his eyes and sent her a sharp glare. Nellie leaned back and whistled.

"Ooh, look at that vampire stare." She swivelled her head to look at the defence. "Your luck's not awesome today, kiddo."

Dan was already not liking the smug attitude of that Kabra guy. Slamming a fist down at his counter, "I don't need that Cobra going easy on me!"

A ripple of _ooohh_ waved through the audience while intrigued news reporters began writing that little titbit down on their notepads. Atticus giggled. Ham sent him a thumbs-up. Reagan mouthed, _You tell 'em, Dan!_

"May we proceed?" snarled a now positively pissed Ian Kabra.

Honourable Gomez rolled her eyes. "I was just lightening up the mood a bit, tough nut."

"Lightening up the mood a bit. Of course." He uncrossed his arms, leaned onto his counter, and looked at his fingernails. "This case concerns the murder of my sister, and let us all lighten up and take this as a joke."

A cricket-worthy silence fell over the court after that.

"Well." She lowered her croissant and tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. "I don't have any intelligent comebacks against that. Very well, then let's get this show on the road. Mister Kabra, your opening statement, please."

"My pleasure." Prosecutor Kabra drew a suitcase from under his counter and picked up a thin folder. But without even looking at the papers inside, "The prosecution will show the court that on April 30th at around 8 pm, the defendant, Hamilton Holt, killed my sister, international supermodel Natalie Kabra, at the women's restroom in the Pierce Manor."

Ian snapped his stare from the judge to the defence. Dan blanched a little when his glare met his.

_Wow. Triggered much?_

"My sister—Natalie. She—" He stopped himself. Took a breath. _Heh._ Dan knew that it was cruel of him to be so insensitive of Prosecutor Kabra's loss, but he can't help but smirk a little at the fact that his opponent was having a hard time even talking about the case.

_Serves you right for deciding to prosecute MY debut trial, Cobra._

"The victim was found dead," Ian finally said, his composure as still as ever as if that statement meant nothing to him at all. He walked out of his counter towards the centre of the court, as if doing so would gain him the favour of the audience. It probably did.

"Look, those girls are swooning," whispered Atticus.

"I know," Dan whispered back. "They have no taste."

"In here, Your Honour," said Ian, waving his file in the air, "is the autopsy report. Cause of death was a fatal—" He forcefully swallowed that choke down his throat. "—a fatal blow, at the back of her head, a task easily accomplished by the brute of a man that this novice attorney is trying to defend."

Dan saw Hamilton bite his lip and turn away.

Ugh. The Holt's right. Compounded with Ian's superb acting skills (or maybe they _weren't_ acting skills, but Dan didn't give a damn because it _effectively_ drew sympathy to the prosecution either way), this was already beginning to make the defence look like the bad guys over here.

"The report shows that the time of death was around 8 pm, between 7: 30 and 8: 30 at best. A witness had come in to find Holt lying unconsciously next to the victim—"

Dan's eyes flashed. _Next_ _to the victim_ —Dan had browsed the case file last night, and he was hoping this would come up, because that was a major contradiction! Slamming a palm on his counter, "Hamilton was unconscious? Then why do you keep egging _him_ when he's clearly—"

"—and this witness immediately called the police. The police found Hamilton passed out beside his dead victim. There is no doubt to it." He'd continued talking as if Dan hadn't interrupted him midway. Prosecutor Kabra pointed a finger. "Hamilton Holt is the murderer."

_What?_

Dan's palms were starting to sweat, and with the air conditioner on full blast, he felt like ice was beginning to crawl up his fingers. Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, but repeating that mantra to himself only seemed to make him panic more, and with the crowd in an uproar, it made everything feel worse.

Hamilton indignantly shot up from his chair. "NO! _But I—!_ "

"Cuff him to his chair."

Four guards were immediately onto Hamilton, forcing him to sit back down and locking him to his chair. Dan did his best to avoid Reagan's tearful eyes as she watched her brother manacled like a criminal.

"Order! Order!" commanded Honourable Gomez, slamming her gavel down to get everybody quiet again. "Order in the court! Also, a gentle reminder to the camera dudes: this is a courtroom, not a freaking tourist site. So shut your lenses! The flashes are hurting my eyes! Would you mind continuing, Prosecutor Kabra?"

Ian gave the furious Dan a lazy glance before rattling off again obliviously. "Of course, Your Honour. The police found that a highly plausible reason for Holt's unconsciousness was the shock of what he had done. Call it conscience if you may. Thus the vomit found mixed with the victim's blood in the crime scene. Tests have confirmed that the vomit was Holt's—who, under further testing, was found to be drunk that night as well, which perfectly explains his violent course of action. In here," he said, turning from the audience to submit his folder to the evidence table, "are included the results of the lab tests if you need confirmation, Your Honour."

Ian calmly walked back to the prosecution's counter, looking satisfied with the presentation of his evidence.

"Wow." Atticus was chuckling uncomfortably. "You haven't even talked yet, and he's pounded you already."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Att."

Just when Dan thought it couldn't get any worse, though, he realized that his opponent wasn't even done yet.

"This," Ian said, now wielding a remote once back in the prosecution's bench, "is the floor plan of the women's restroom." The court directed their gaze up at one of the two TV screens that flashed an overview of the crime scene.

A floor plan. The floor plan consisted of the restrooms, the servants' quarters, and a balcony. The restrooms were divided into two, the left side marked red to signify the crime scene. (And what were those squiggly bits of mess on the restroom's corner?) There were three corridors that diverged from the restrooms, one of which led to a staircase to the west, the second one leading east to the servants' quarters, and the one at the middle leading to something marked as the 'waiting balcony'.

"What the heck is a waiting balcony?" whispered Dan to his co-counsel.

"Uh…" Atticus looked confused himself. "Considering it all led to a public restroom, maybe it's a waiting area? When you have a companion who needs to pee and you had to wait for them, maybe?"

Huh. What the heck kind of house would have a freaking _public restroom_ , anyway?

"And this," Ian said, clicking again to bring up another image at the other TV screen, "is the photo of the crime scene itself."

A wave of mutters rippled over the court at the gruesome sight that beheld them.

Ian had cleared his throat and turned away. Huh. Somehow, Dan found it hard not to respect the jerk, despicable as he was. Must be brave of him to tackle this case himself.

Honourable Gomez had her own tablet, and was perusing the newly submitted photographic evidence with analysing eyes. Dan turned his gaze at one of the TV screens and decided to do some analysing himself.

The crime scene photo wrote a thousand words. The women's restroom was flushed in beige. Four stall doors were visible in the left side of the photograph while a mirror of exquisitely polished glass stretched on the right was a small, heavy-looking metal décor that displayed on the far side of the sink, but aside from that, there was not much to see on the sink and the mirror. Hamilton Holt and Natalie Kabra, however….

Well, the bodies weren't actually there, but they were traced with white masking tape, and that was enough to make the imagination work on some very gruesome details. The victim's body must've slumped forward, blood pooling around her head, the sticky liquid mixing with ebony curls. Beside her was the outline of a then-passed out Hamilton, who, instead of blood, had vomit all around him. Behind them, Dan could see scattered glass shards and what looked like the remains of a once glorious vase—the weird squiggly bits on the floor plan, he now realized. There were darts scattered over the floor, and he was able to count nine of them. _Hmm…what a waste of ammo._

Speaking of ammos, Dan was afraid he could think of nothing to fire the prosecution with. He knew, he _knew_ the case was just starting, but dammit, his frazzled nerves kept chanting You're going to lose, you're going to lose, you shouldn't have accepted this case in the first place, you're going to _lose._

Atticus swallowed, and Dan knew he must've have been struggling to keep a straight face, what with the blood and vomit flashed onto the TV screens like that. He felt a little sorry for his friend.

The two of them were still children.

"And there you have it," ended Ian. "The entire story is that Natalie was killed in the women's restroom by a man without manners, who realized his evil deed too late and passed out beside her corpse in shame. The preponderance of evidence against the defendant is impossible to refute, Your Honour. Nobody could have done this heinous crime except for Hamilton Holt himself."

The gallery burst into hollers.

" _I knew it!"_

"That Holt is a murderer! A murderer!"

"He's probably even a cheater in the Olympics! Maybe that's why he won every single time!"

"Put him to JAIL!"

"JUSTICE FOR NATALIE KABRA!"

"Mommy? Do you think that defence attorney over there needs to poo?"

"Order! Order! _Ordeeer!_ Order in the court, I say!" But when no one piped down, Honourable Judge Nellie Gomez finally slammed her gavel down.

Stood—

"Y'ALL SHUT UP OR I'M GONNA START _SINGING!_ "

That was effective. An obedient hush fell over the court, and a satisfied Nellie Gomez sat back down in her chair of state in a huff. "Good. Well. I see that this _is_ going to be hard to refute." She turned her gaze to the defence. "You got a tough case to crack here, kiddo."

"Then…okay. I've got a question for the prosecution," said Dan, grasping to find anything in his brain, wondering if he was going to sound stupid with this. "Are you and Hamilton Holt relatives?"

Ian paused. After failing to see any trap laced within the question, "What in the bleeding hell kind of question is that?"

 _Well, if you guys just STOP pressuring me with your glares, I MIGHT start composing actual coherent sentences!_ "I, er, wanted, em…I thought…"

"What is it, Mr Cahill?" prodded the judge.

Dan shook his head clear. _Get it out straight, you dense_ _ **idiot**_. "The defence," Dan began with forced confidence, "demands the prosecution to tell the court why Hamilton Holt was invited in their manor in the first place. Yeah! That's it!"

Ian tsk-tsked. "It seems you haven't done your homework, Mr Dan Cahill. Typical high school attitudes rubbing you on the nose in your…adulthood."

_Could you like, stop calling me by my complete name?_ _It's really disturbing, thanks._

But thankfully, Ian obliged. "On the night of April 30th, Kabra-Pierce Incorporated intended to reveal its ten-year-long project, the Pierce X, to the public. X, as in the Roman numeral for 10. We invited prominent—"

"So wait. Why not just call it Pierce 10 then?"

He was thrown off for a moment. Then after composing himself, he blurted, "Because Pierce X sounds more neoteric! Anyway—"

" _Neoteric?_ What the hell? Speak like a normal person, dude."

"We invited prominent people to our manor for the big reveal!" said Ian, ending that with an exclamation point out of anger more than enthusiasm. Dan smirked, his confidence returning. Maybe this was the technique. Annoying people and being a general asshole was his field of expertise, so maybe… _maybe_ if he just decided to have some fun, his brain will get around this stress and get started to work.

"Dude!" whispered Atticus, "You're not gaining anyone's favour, you acting like a child and all. What are you _doing?_ "

Dan smirked. "Having fun."

"Prominent people…" Ian continued, calming down, "which included international sensations like my sister, who herself had come from Paris that very night, and Jonah Wizard. We didn't only invite relatives, we invited big names. We weren't quite fond of the Holts, but seeing as Hamilton Holt himself had made it to the headlines recently for bagging a handful of Olympic medals for the United States of America—" _guy was obsessed with saying complete names._ "—it was difficult not to include him on the invite list. Cara and I had more things to do than peruse every single pest we'd have to invite in our little party, but if you are interested, then here," he tapped on his folder, "is the list of attendants. And for god's sakes," he said, "wipe that smirk off your face and stop pretending that you have something substantial to say."

The smirk on his face froze.

How did Ian smell the bad egg behind his veil of confidence?

"Yeaaaaaah," said Honourable Gomez, "when rookie attorneys start to get desperate, they begin smirking or smiling or laughing, thinking that will throw off the prosecution. Court Techniques 101."

_Oh._

_What._

_Really._

Ian smirked. "What a charming thing the truth is, don't you think?"

Atticus was shaking his head. "So that was what the smirking was all about..."

Dan was indignant at his friend. "Sometimes I can't figure out whether you're on my side or not!"

"Chill, Dan," advised Honourable Gomez, finishing off her croissant and reaching down to Bailiff Beatrice for another one. "We aren't even getting into the case yet. Mr Kabra," Ian perked, "the prosecution may call its first witness. To the stand, please!"

The faint tap-tapping of a cane against the wooden floor was enough to command the attention of the courtroom. His leather shoes smoothly glided across the polished surface. His legs were covered in black silk trousers. The yellow collar of his polo shirt was neatly displayed over his black suit. Sharp brows hung over his slanted eyes. His diamond-tipped cane captured the light and blinded everyone for a second, before finally planting his cane to the ground once he'd stepped into the waiting witness stand. A hush of anticipation fell over the audience. This was a man to be feared.

Prosecutor Kabra, however, had had many encounters with this particular detective, and was not a tad bit intimidated. "Witness, please state your name and occupation."

"Detective Alistair Oh," replied the man in a manner that was almost snappy. "I've been serving the force since I became an American citizen a couple of decades ago."

Dan cocked his head to the side. "Alistair who now?"

"Oh. Alistair _Oh_." The glare he gave him was pointed."It is my family name, Mr Cahill."

Dan couldn't resist. "Oh, _really?_ "

Atticus groaned. "Sometimes I get ashamed having to admit I'm acquainted with you, Dan."

Ian slammed a fist down his counter. "Will you _please?_ Stop acting like a child, for heaven's sake!"

"No, no," said a fairly calm Detective Oh, "I'm used to this racism I receive from American lawyers, Mr Kabra. Let him laugh now."

That made him suddenly feel like _not_ laughing anymore. "Wait. What? Racist?! I was not—I was just—!"

Mutters rippled throughout the court.

"Mocking the Chief Detective's name...outrageous..."

"Like defending a murderer wasn't enough!"

"I bet Holt promised to pay him millions just to get his precious acquittal."

"Mommy, are defence attorneys bad people?"

"I was just _joking_ , people!" blurted Dan, "Y'all have serious issues."

Honourable Gomez was slamming her gavel down. "ORDER IN THE COURT! And stop that booing, everyone, let's all be one big happy family now, shall we!"

"You _do_ have a point, Detective Oh," gritted Ian Kabra, his form slouched, his fingers digging into the wood of his counter, and his eyes throwing daggers at the defence team that said _I will_ CRUSH _you Daniel Arthur Cahill—I will crush you_. "But no, it is _not_ alright. I will _not_ have children undermine the case of my deceased sister. Now," he said, calming down by releasing a breath and straightening up, "if you would begin testifying the case to the court?"

Detective Oh bowed graciously. "Of course, Prosecutor Kabra."

"Brace yourself, Dan," said Atticus, "You never know if the witness is lying or hiding something in their testimony."

"Keep up the helpful commentary, Att."

_**Witness Testimony  
Murder at the Pierce Manor** _

_Most of the important details have been said by Mr Kabra already, so let's dig deeper than that, shall we?_

_The big reveal of the party—Pierce X—was planned to occur at around 8 pm, though since Miss Kabra's plane arrived late, they adjusted it to 9._

_It seems as if just before Miss Kabra entered the party itself, though, she decided to go into the women's restroom first. Probably to freshen up._

_However, this was around the time that Hamilton Holt entered the women's restroom, drunk. Most probably Miss Natalie was shocked at the presence of a male in the women's restroom, so she drew out her dart gun._

_The shots missed the assailant, unfortunately…thus the scattered darts. It was presumed that the victim did not give up without a fight, though. The shattered vase at the corner of the crime scene testifies that some struggle between the victim and the assailant had occurred._

_She was almost on her way out. This is when Hamilton Holt must have struck her from behind with his bare fists. He certainly has the build to deliver a fatal blow. The victim then slumped forward, dead._

_Horrified of his own actions, the drunk Mr Holt must have come to his senses around this time. He knelt down beside the dead victim, but it was too late. His conscience overridden, Holt vomited right then and there, and slumped beside his victim, unconscious._

_A witness called the police. We arrived at around 8: 30 in the crime scene, and found the two bodies, one of which was already a corpse._

And that was that.

…that was that?

Dan gripped at his counter, desperate.

_Crap. There were no holes. Nothing. The testimony is rock solid._

Atticus was fidgeting now. "Nothing in the testimony seems to contradict the evidence, Dan. What do we do now?"

"Oh, _we?_ " he snapped.

"Yes!"

"Yes?"

Dan blinked at the detective. "No, I was talking to—there was this—oh, never mind."

"Mind what?"

"FORGET IT!"

"Say, Your Honour," interjected a jolly-looking Prosecutor Kabra,"has the detective's testimony cleared any doubts? Perhaps we would all like to end this case as quickly as possible with the _murderer_ —" he found the grace to smile condescendingly at the squirming Holt cuffed helplessly in the defendant's chair—"serving his sentence. Preferably something as heavy as capital punishment."

Honourable Nellie Gomez sat back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes closed, mind chewing over the case. Then—

" _Mr Cahill!"_

Dan jumped. "Y-Your Honour?"

She pound her gavel down. "Begin your cross-examination of the witness."

Prosecutor Kabra tightened his jaw, dismayed that that his precious guilty verdict was going to have to wait a little longer. Meanwhile, Dan was sweating.

_This is where shit gets real…_

"Good luck, dude," said Atticus, genuinely sympathetic.

_Why did I ever let you pull me over to this, you devil?_

_**Cross-Examination  
Murder at the Pierce Manor** _

_**Most of the important details have been said by Mr Kabra already, so let's dig deeper than that, shall we?_

_**The big reveal of the party—Pierce X—was planned to occur at around 8 pm, though since Miss Kabra's plane arrived late, they adjusted it to 9._

**Hold it!**

Dan threw his first question. "Where did Miss Kabra come from?"

It was Prosecutor Kabra who answered. "Paris, France. She had an important photo shoot to conduct with Fey et Rey, a supermodeling company that a barbarian like you wouldn't have any idea about. Satisfied?"

 _Whoa. Chill, man, I'm only doing my job._ Dan rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he chewed over the detective's testimony.

"Pierce X…okay, nothing suspicious about that…so far…"

Ian's glare sharpened, offended. "What do you mean by that?"

"So," questioned Dan,"Pierce X is this newest technology you'd been withholding from the public for…" He looked down at one of his documents for reference. "…five years now?"

"Yes."

"Is there any reason for that, Mister CEO?"

A vein throbbed in Prosecutor Kabra's temple. "Anyone with access to the internet would know the answer to that question, you pathetic half-wit."

Dan blinked, wide-eyed. Eh? Really?

Atticus nudged his shoulder. "Dan…you aren't just throwing out questions because you have nothing else to ask, are you?"

He scratched the back of his neck, chuckling uncomfortably. "Eh he he he…it was that obvious?"

Prosecutor Kabra was seething now. "Are you treating this murder trial as a joke?"

"Okay, okay," said Dan, "here I go…why would the reveal of Pierce X _have_ to wait for her arrival, anyway?"

**Objection!**

Prosecutor Kabra slammed a palm down on his counter. "I've had it. These questions are irrelevant. Your Honour," he said, looking up at the judge, "we should proceed with the cross-examination with a _real_ defence attorney."

**Objection!**

"N-No! This _is_ the cross examination!" Dan shot out his arm to point a finger at him. "Just answer the question!"

Atticus ran both hands down his face in despair. "Dan, are you _sure_ you're even going somewhere with this?"

"Whose side ARE you on, Att?!"

**Objection!**

Prosecutor Kabra was indignant. "I refuse to take part in these trivialities!"

**Objection!**

"I refuse to accept your refusal!"

Honourable Gomez smashed her gavel down. "ORDER IN THE COURT! Objection overruled. Geez, Kabra," she said, wildly gesturing an arm out to the prosecution, "just answer the damn question!"

The audience fell into silence as each one of them leaned forward from their seats just a little bit, eager to hear the prosecutor's answer.

After dragging the seconds long, Ian Kabra finally snapped.

"Sentiment."

_Eh?_

Dan drew back. "What?"

" _Sentiment_. The party had to wait for her arrival because she is my sister."

Dan blinked for a few moments.

Then he chuckled. "Uh…what was the question again?"

The prosecutor was clearly dangling on the verge of the cliff now. When he answered, his accent was so thickly clipped even Dan had to strain to understand.

"You _asked_ ," hissed Ian, "why we had to wait for Natalie's arrival from Paris before the big reveal of Pierce X, and my answer is _sentiment_ , you incompetent _cod_."

Dan began to sweat bullets. _Damn, calm down._ Seems reasonable enough. Now that was a pointless racket. If there was anything he learned from that, it was that he stunk at this stuff so bad even he couldn't tolerate the smell.

"Does that _satisfy_ you, Your Honour?"

"Yes, Prosecutor Kabra," replied Honourable Gomez, cheerfully playing along. "But before we proceed, lemme give you a piece of advice. The mark of being an adult is the ability to patiently patronize a child, Mr Kabra, so whatever our rookie here asks of you, just go on with it, okay? Now," she pound her gavel, "back to the cross-examination!"

Both the prosecution and the defence kept their mouths shut though they glared at Nellie Gomez who happily chewed on her croissant.

The testimony continued.

_**It seems as if just before Miss Kabra entered the party itself, though, she decided to go into the women's restroom first. Probably to freshen up._

_**However, this was around the time that Hamilton Holt entered the women's restroom, drunk. Most probably Miss Natalie was shocked at the presence of a male in the women's restroom, so she drew out her dart gun._

**Hold it!**

Dan was blinking. "She…drew out a dart gun?! Isn't that illegal?!"

_Maybe if I just ignore the fact that MY CLIENTwas the one who entered the women's restroom looking like a scary gigolo, everyone would stop glaring at me._

"Americans getting worked up over guns. What a loaded drivel. And it was a _dart_ gun, you imbecile—self-defence is _not_ illegal," snapped Prosecutor Kabra. "My sister is perfectly qualified to carry a dart gun as a precautionary measure. She is, after all, internationally acclaimed, and there are many who would want to take her hostage and use her to threaten me and my company."

"Well, if you're so paranoid about her being kidnapped," retorted Dan, "why not give her a bodyguard?!"

"Think before you speak, fool," said Ian. "I have given my sister an ex-KGB agent as her own personal handmaid."

"Then how come…?"

"Irina Spasky was unable to be by my sister's side that night. She reported being gravely unwell after the flight. But, in the end, I guess I…I shouldn't have let her take her leave."

 _Huh,_ thought Dan, watching Ian turn his head away. And because he somewhat felt for the guy, he decided that this was one conversation he should stay well out of.

Dan groaned. Either way, he still got nothing.

_**The shots missed the assailant, unfortunately…thus the scattered darts. It was presumed that the victim did not give up without a fight, though. The shattered vase at the corner of the crime scene testifies that some struggle between the victim and the assailant had occurred._

**Hold it!**

"Scattered darts? Exactly how many were there?"

Prosecutor Kabra smirked. "As if answering your flimsy question makes any difference. Detective Oh," he said, turning his gaze to the witness stand, "humour him."

_Nice, tag-teamed in stereo. You're quick t_ _o recover_ _, you smarmy Cobra._

Detective Oh nodded. "Eleven darts were discovered at the crime scene."

 _Right. Not much info there…only that Miss Supermodel was terrible at shooting._ After all, it took her ELEVEN freaking darts and still ended up getting gonked in the noggin.

"What kind of poison does she carry?" asked Dan, uncertain of his own question.

"They were tranquilizer darts."

Dan leaned back. Paused significantly.

"You…don't seem so sure, Prosecutor Kabra."

"My sister was an impulsive lady," he shot at him,then turned away.

Detective Oh stayed silent.

Eh? What did impulsion have to do with tranq darts now?

_** She was almost on her way out. This is when Hamilton Holt must have struck her from behind with his bare fists. He certainly has the build to deliver a fatal blow. The victim then slumped forward, dead._

**Hold it!**

For a moment, Dan spoke nothing.

Honourable Gomez gently prodded him out of his stupor. "Yes, Mr Cahill?"

"I…I was hoping to come up with something while I was saying 'hold it'."

Prosecutor Kabra groaned.

_** Horrified of his own actions, the drunk Mr Holt must have come to his senses around this time. He knelt down beside the dead victim, but it was too late. His conscience overridden, Holt vomited right then and there, and slumped beside his victim, unconscious._

**Hold it!**

"How can you be so sure that's what happened?!" _Maybe it'll sound less desperate if I scream it real loud._ "If Hamilton was so overridden by conscience as you claim he was, then he's a good guy. He wouldn't—!"

Prosecutor Kabra touched his forehead with his fingers. "Are we _sure_ you went through law school, Mr Dan Cahill? You're treading subjective grounds. It would do you well to learn that evidence—not baseless conjecture—is _everything_ in a court of law, and since you have none of the aforementioned evidence, you are _nothing_. Holt was _drunk_ that night, Mr Cahill. The crime scene was found exactly as Detective Oh has narrated it. There was blood and vomit, the bodies of the victim and the suspect. That the suspect had fainted right after his finishing blow is the only explanation why Holt was in the crime scene in the first place."

_Crap. This is what I get for not getting enough practice in this kinda stuff._

The testimony finally then ended itself.

_** A witness called the police. We arrived at around 8: 30 in the crime scene, and found the two bodies, one of which was already a corpse._

Dan was already shaking where he stood. _Crap. Crap crapcrapcrapcrap._ He couldn't find anything in there. His mind was panicking and the longer the time stretched, the farther the answers seemed to drift away from him.

_I'm no good at this._

_I'm a failure. A disappointment._

_They should have hired a different attorney._

Meanwhile, the court was ablaze.

"There's no doubt to it then!"

"The case is clear."

"That Holt is a murderer! A murderer!"

"Yeah! Why don't you hand down your verdict already!"

"Mommy? Should I start cheering along with everybody else?"

Dan saw Reagan hold a desperate Hamilton's hand as the crowd demanded to throw the accused murderer into jail. Dan exchanged a panicked glance with Atticus.

_What to do?_

Honourable Gomez was slamming down her gavel again and again and again, though the hammer just can't seem to pound the nail right. "ORDER! ORDER! LISTEN TO ME, YOU NOISY PACK OF CHEAP NOODLES! _If I can't have my order I—!_ Ooh, thanks for the croissant, Beatrice. _ALRIGHT!_ Does the defence have anything to say about this?!"

Once she'd said the word 'defence', the world ceased its wars and ganged up, booing over at Defence Attorney Dan Cahill's bench.

Which wasn't really helping in boosting his self-esteem.

"I…well I…um…"

Prosecutor Kabra smirked. "Well, Dan Cahill, _attorney-at-law_." He drawled out his title in mockery and boy, he was _good_ at making him feel like crap. "How does it feel like, to be so utterly crushed?"

"Well if you really want to know," Dan played along, "I'm still thinking about that."

Atticus was outrageous that his partner wasn't doing much fighting. " _Dan!_ You're not just sitting there and taking that kind of abuse?!"

"Do I _have_ a choice?" he hissed at Atticus. He had his head hung low and he was gritting his teeth. He'd watched Amy get cornered in the courtroom in the past, but she had some tricks up her sleeve that effectively let her squirm her way out of the prosecution's grasp. Now he just had to know how she did it. Regret ate at him that he never got to talk to his sister about court techniques.

_There must be something I'm missing, SOMETHING in that testimony. I need to calm down. Panicking is accomplishing me nothing. I need to think clearly._

_What would Amy do? What would Amy do?_

Well, _she'd_ find the contradictions and make the prosecution swallow it.

_But how would she actually DO it?!_

At any rate, the court had waited long enough for the defence to speak. Prosecutor Kabra turned to face the judge. Let Dan Cahill work out his character underdevelopment issues later—the courtroom was no place to undergo through internal conflict.

"Your Honour, if I may?"

Honourable Gomez sighed, disappointed that the trial was going easy. _Way_ too easily. And she'd expected much from the Cahill kid, considering he had the blood of a steady trail of court geniuses.

"If the defence has nothing more to say..." She gave one more cursory glance at the defence, and was disappointed that Dan Cahill wasn't lifting his head up in objection any second now. Regrettably, she had to continue. "Then court grants the prosecution to speak."

"Let us end this trial here and now. The prosecution calls for a verdict of guilty for the defendant." Prosecutor Kabra snapped his fingers, ready to deliver his final blow.

"Mr Hamilton Holt is a murderer. I rest my case."

* * *

Court Record

Profiles

 **Amy Cahill, 26**. Or, at least, she would've been 26 by now if she were still alive. She's my sister and she has ugly red hair. She's a real genius in the courtroom though, and the only person said to rival the sliminess of Prosecutor Kabra. I can't decide if it was a good thing I didn't inherit aforementioned sliminess.

 **Atticus Rosenbloom, 17**. My legal sidekick, my co-counsel, my Watson. Prodigy and idiot. You could say he's my intern, yeah, but the only reason he keeps me company is because he's studying for bar exams and he thinks my office is a dumpsite for his stupid history books.

 **Bailiff Beatrice, ?**. Not sure of her last name, I never caught it. She's Honourable Gomez's bailiff, or, more appropriately, food service. With that grumpy expression on her face, she looks like her job's putting her through hell. There's not much difference, she and I.

 **Cara Pierce-Kabra, 26**. Prosecutor Kabra's co-CEO, I guess? I mean, she _is_ his wife and all, and is probably the reason why he gave up his career as public prosecutor in the first place.

 **Dan Cahill, 24**. Me, Myself, and I. Thanks to my insane photographic memory, I've managed to get through law school because that monster forces you to memorize entire books. That's all over now, and I'm finally a defence attorney working at the Cahill and Co. Law Offices, unable to pay rent and figuring out this adulting stuff without any actual adult to teach me how, which is prolly why I suck at it. :(

 **Detective Alistair Oh, ?**.The detective in charge of the case. I hear he's one of the top dogs of the police force, and though not an American by blood, you can sense the patriotism. God bless America, I guess.

 **Evan Tolliver, 26**. Nerdy, real clumsy, cute coke-bottle glasses, I believe I've mentioned that before. Also, a self-proclaimed genius in digging up dirt on people, which could make sense because he graduated from IT school with flying colours. He'd certainly had his share of experience when he worked as Amy's middleman back when she was alive.

 **Hamilton Holt, 27**. My client's brother who allegedly killed Natalie Kabra in the women's restroom. Was a close friend of mine—was—till he had to go out of country to train for the Olympics. A little doltish at times, but I do think he's innocent. It's just the fact that I can't prove it yet that gets to my nerves.

 **Honourable Nellie Gomez, ?**. The judge of the trial. I reckon she loves croissants to death. I wonder how she got away with that punk hair style of hers and is still considered a legal holder of the gavel, though. She must've used some scary methods. She looks the type alright.

 **Ian Kabra, 26**. Stuck-up professional, CEO of Kabra-Pierce Inc., and the internationally feared prosecutor who I swear is itching to get up on that table and strangle to be slimy in courtroom battles, so I better be careful. Big bro of the murdered supermodel. May or may not be the reason why he's so hell bent on kicking Ham's butt to jail.

 **Irina Spasky, ?.** Natalie's bodyguard, according to Prosecutor Kabra. Ex-KGB agent who felt unwell that night. What a convenient time for the murderer to sneak in, but maybe that's really just sucky timing. (I mean...or is it?)

 **Jake Rosenbloom, 27**. Att's half-brother and medium for spreading gossip about my debut trial all over to Egypt.

 **Jonah Wizard, 27**. Eh, just a random dude with a random girlfriend. At least, that's what I would say if he wasn't a _freaking Hollywood celebrity!_ What the frick IS he doing in this lousy courtroom, anyway?!

 **Natalie Kabra, 24**. Deceased. The supermodel killed in the women's restroom of the Pierce Manor. Little sis of Prosecutor Kabra. It would be a mistake to be like all her jealous haters who think that just because she's super pretty she must be dumb—because she wields a freaking dart gun for self-defence for crying out loud. Gulp.

 **Reagan Holt, 23**. My client who got me into this mess in the first place. Sorta-kinda my high school crush, which is probably the only reason she managed to convince me to take her case.

 **?, ?**. The witness who called the police and who, according to Detective Oh, was the first to see the crime scene in person.

Evidence

 **Armani suit**. My sister bought this for me, saying that she'd want to see me wear it when the time comes. Unfortunately she isn't around anymore to see me in it, because right now I'd really want to show her how scratchy the suit is and that her shopping abilities sucked.

 **Attorney's badge**. Always fun to brag about, this badge is my pride and joy. Well, not sure about the joy part for now—I haven't been tested in court yet, though this murder case is putting me in trial by fire. No one would believe I was a defence attorney if I didn't wear this.

 **Autopsy report**. Natalie Kabra (24)/F. Time of death was between 7:30 and 8:30 of April 30th. Cause of death was blunt force trauma that shattered a vertebra in her neck. Ouch…

 **Crime scene photo**.Shows how the crime scene was found. The suspect (my client, Ham Holt) was found passed out next to the dead victim, and you can see blood and vomit. Sorta gruesome, and I can tell it makes Prosecutor Kabra uncomfortable, so I guess I can appreciate his courage to flatten this trial for his sister. (I only it wish it wasn't _my_ debut trial he was flattening…)

 **Eleven scattered darts** , though I can only see nine of them from the crime scene photo. All I can really deduce from this for now is that Natalie Kabra must've really been terrible with shooting. I mean, what's the point of giving her a dart gun if she didn't know how to use it, right? Gaah. Rich kids.

 **Floor plan**. Shows the public restroom divided into two (for males and females, obviously), accessible through three corridors that led towards a staircase in the west, the servants' quarters in the east, and a dead end called a 'waiting balcony' in the middle. The fact that they built a waiting balcony shows that these people got money to burn.

 **Kabra-Pierce Inc**. Kabra Inc. was an information company and Pierce Inc. was a technology company. When they merged, voila, they became an infotech company, though I'm not really sure what their CEOs do for a job if they've got, like, people who do their jobs for them. Don't ask me, I'm not an expert in these kinds of adult stuff.

 **Lab results**. These hold the confirmation that the blood was the victim's, and the vomit was Holt's.

 **List of party attendants**. What it says on the tin.

 **May 3 issue of Massachusetts Daily**. Economics and world politics bore me since they're grown-up stuff, but Amy put the office on a subscription with the local news and I…can't find the guts to cancel it. This particular issue contains some news bits about Hamilton's alleged murder of Natalie Kabra, some dirty gossip about the miracle of Jonah Wizard having a three-month-long girlfriend, sci-info news about Speede Tech's newly-released Speede 9S laptop series, and an unfinished crossword puzzle. I still haven't figured out what that metal/plastic sheath over the end of a shoelace is called though... D:

 **Pierce X**. According to the docs I've been handed, Pierce X is a piece of hi-tech phone model that the Kabra-Pierce Inc. has been withdrawing from the public for five years now. April 30th was the date of its release, coinciding with the death of Natalie Kabra. Its big reveal had to be cancelled because of said murder.

 **Shattered vase**. Detective Oh had reported that this shattered vase was a sign that some struggle occurred between the victim and her assailant. Impressive, seeing that the victim, Natalie, looked a bit flimsy and not the type to put up a fight, from some photos I've seen.


End file.
